I took the print of life not outwardly, but inwardly upon the raw, the white, the unprotected fibre. I am clouded and bruised with the print of minds and faces and things so subtle that they have smell, colour, texture, substance, but no name.

“The mind which is most capable of receiving impressions is very often the least…”

“It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality.”

“And if literature is not the Bride and Bedfellow of Truth, what is she? 'Confou…”

“With my cheek leant upon the window pane I like to fancy that I am pressing as …”